


Paranoir

by sarkywoman



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Diego Hargreeves-centric, F/M, M/M, Paranoia, Past Diego Hargreeves/Eudora Patch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:21:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28739415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarkywoman/pseuds/sarkywoman
Summary: He doesn’t need to rely on anyone.For the 'paranoia' square at Bad Things Happen Bingo on tumblr. Diego Hargreeves is a private eye hired to investigate the kidnapping of a famous actress' daughter.
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves/Klaus Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves/Lila Pitts
Comments: 42
Kudos: 36
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	1. you don't trust humans and I feel the same

**Author's Note:**

> **Please Read This Note**
> 
> I will be updating the tags on the fic as I update, so watch out for additional characters and pairings. **However** , there are a couple of sort-of side pairings that are minor spoilers for the story, so those are unlikely to be tagged. If you have **any** pairings you're squeamish about, by all means drop me a line on tumblr to enquire and I can give the context around what I have planned so you can figure out if it's your cup of tea.

Only the usual suspects in the joint drinking their filthy cocktails, but Diego still keeps his eyes peeled for danger as Klaus leads him by the hand to one of the private rooms. More like a cupboard with a heavy velvet curtain. The sound of the stage is quietened a little as Klaus pulls the drapery closed behind them. Music’s audible enough for him to dance to, muffled enough that Diego can hear him speak.

“You’ve been away a while, Stabby.”

“You been keeping track?”

Klaus snatches a pink feather boa from the hook on the wall and curls it around himself before leaning over and flicking the end against Diego’s nose. In the flickering fairy lights, his lipgloss glistens like a temptation. 

“You’re my favourite.”

Diego knows better than to believe that, despite the nights they’ve shared. Still, Klaus’ desire to bond might be useful to him. 

“Uh huh. What does that get me, being your favourite?”

“Well, you still gotta pay for the dance, sorry. I have to eat and all. But...” Klaus shrugs his narrow shoulders a little, making his tattoo shift under the see-through mesh vest. He turns away and checks the curtain is fully closed, no gap. His tight black PVC pants have shapes cut out of them, exposing strips of inked white skin. Diego’s gaze lingers on the tattoo of a ghost before Klaus turns back and says, “Could suck your cock for free.”

He has to work up to a response. The first few times he can feel the words are sticking in a stutter. He had mostly rid himself of it growing up, but it came back after… everything. 

“Won’t that cut into your profit margins? I know it’s your side hustle.”

Rather than being offended, Klaus smirks. “Oh? And _how_ do you know that?”

Because he’s seen him. Out in the alleys and gutters of society the pair of them, but while Diego sticks to the shadows, Klaus holds his head up high and uses streetlamps as his own personal spotlight. Sure of his own beauty if nothing else. A bit like Diego’s client that way, though the polar opposite of her in many other respects. 

“I drive around town sometimes. I’ve seen you.”

“Should pull over sometime,” Klaus says with a wicked smile beneath smokey eyes dilated with drugs and lust. 

“Would that be free too?”

“Was last time, wasn’t it?”

“You stole from my cabinet again.”

A giddy laugh and another twirl with the feather boa. “Oh please, you weren’t taking those. The bottle was basically full.”

“Still. I figure I paid for the time.”

Klaus raises an eyebrow. “I think I’m worth a little more than that.” He prowls forward then straddles Diego’s lap. “Dancer, cocksucker, general good time… maybe I should get business cards made.”

Diego almost misses the perfect opener, distracted by the lithe weight in his lap. Klaus wasn’t wrong – Diego never regrets their… meetings – but he’s here on business tonight. His hand goes to his pocket, drawing Klaus’ curious gaze. He pulls out a little card. 

“You mean like this one?”

“Huh?” 

Holding it up to Klaus’ eyes, wondering if he can see it properly in the dim, twinkling lights. One of the little business cards for the club, ‘Umbrellas’. A silhouette of a showgirl captioned, ‘gals and guys to pass a rainy day, whatever your fancy!’ On the back, sharp angular digits etched in blue ink. “I recognised your number. Don’t recognise the handwriting. Making new acquaintances?”

“Said you were my favourite, not my only. You can’t afford to keep me. But hey, you ever make it big as a lone wolf detective, get your own TV show or some shit, you let me know. I could be a full-time bedwarmer for one lucky winner.”

“A girl’s life is in danger.”

“Just the one?”

Diego grabs Klaus’ arm. The man’s skinny enough Diego’s fingers nearly meet his thumb. “I want a name.”

“You’ve got a first and a last already.”

“I’m not fucking playing. We’re talking about a _kid_ here, Klaus.”

“I don’t know anything about any kids, okay? The people who pay me for fun aren’t looking to mess with little girls.”

“Who took your number down?”

“Where did you even get that?”

Clearly he knows whose writing it is. And he’s bad at deflecting. 

“Crime scene. Who wrote your number down lately?”

“God, I don’t know. People write my number all over the place. I have ads in phone booths for fuck’s sake.”

“I’ve seen them. Different handwriting. This is neat.”

“Rude,” Klaus huffs. “For that, you’re paying for the dance _and_ the blowjob.”

“Don’t want your mouth,” Diego lies. “I want a name.”

Klaus’ eyes are shuttered, expression unusually sullen. “I told you, I don’t know who wrote that. If it’s someone who’s into little girls, I don’t want them calling me anyway. Even if someone wrote my number down in front of me I’d forget. You know I’m always off my face.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Diego huffs. He shifts his arms and stands, lifting Klaus with him. 

“Oh!” Klaus’ legs wrap around him.

Diego turns back to the padded chair and leans down slow, lowering Klaus onto his back and looming over him. He leans in until they can taste one another’s breath. The look in Klaus’ eyes… yeah, Diego knows he could still get his freebie. Probably more than a bj. “Name?” He asks softly.

Klaus growls and closes his eyes, drops his head back onto the fake leather. “I told you, I don’t fucking know.”

“Hm. Well then you’d better take _my_ card,” Diego says, plucking one of the little sharp-edged calling cards from his pocket.

“Oh, I’ve got one,” Klaus says. He reaches behind himself and presents a cigarette case that Diego hadn’t noticed when he picked him up. He opens it to reveal a few cigarettes, condoms and scraps of paper. One of which is Diego’s card, in surprisingly good condition. “Got it the night we met, but you probably don’t remember that.” He pulls out a cigarette and grabs a lighter from where he’s stashed a couple behind the chair. He lights up and takes a drag. Smoke spills from his lips when he says, “it’s amazing how easy it is to forget details like that.”

“Well. You call me if you remember.”

“Call me if you want your cock sucked. At a competitive market-rate.”

Rolling his eyes, Diego takes his leave. He’s got other ways to investigate. He doesn’t need to rely on a cheap hooker.

He doesn’t need to rely on anyone.


	2. fears formed so long ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 48 hours earlier. Diego gets a new job.

She was later than expected, of course. Movie stars kept to their own schedule. Didn’t stop Diego wondering if he was being made a fool of, or if something had happened to her. Her guard dog Luther had seemed plenty sincere enough on the phone, but it wasn’t every day that a famous actress wanted to speak to Diego.

Forty minutes after Allison was due to arrive ‘immediately’, Diego saw her nice car pull up behind the building, in the shadows. His night vision camera down there caught Luther going round and opening her door.

Diego had cameras in the building on both floors and he watched as Allison and Luther walked from screen to screen in flickering black and white. As they grew near he grabbed a folder and settled back in his chair, aiming for an image of competent nonchalance.

There was a delicate rap at his office door.

“Come in,” he called.

Allison entered, followed closely by her hulking foster brother and bodyguard Luther. She was wearing a dark long coat, dark headscarf and big, dark glasses. 

“This you trying to be inconspicuous?” Diego asked with a chuckle. It was more to make her understand he wouldn’t be grovelling than it was a serious criticism, but it made her hesitate.

“Fine.” She pulled off the glasses and scarf and unbuttoned the coat. Handed the whole lot to dutiful Luther. Her bold red dress was probably the most colourful thing that had ever been in his office, more vivid even than Klaus’ experimental crop tops. Her heels clicked against the dirty floor as she continued her stride to his desk where she sat opposite him and crossed her long legs in a way that drew his gaze for just a moment. When he looked back to her face her dark red lips were curved in amusement. He let her think what she wanted. She knew she was beautiful and so did Diego. It didn’t mean anything. He’d met a lot of beautiful women and forgotten their names. Catching attention wasn’t the same as holding it.

“I don’t do marriage shit,” he advised up-front.

“Excuse me?” She asked, eyebrow raised.

“It’s tacky. I don’t do it. I handle crime. So unless you suspect your ex is guilty of something _really_ nasty--”

“Like kidnapping?” Allison interjected.

That wasn’t what he expected to hear. “Yeah, that’d count. Who’d he kidnap?” He already guessed before she responded though.

“My daughter, Claire.”

“We don’t know it was him,” Luther said. He wandered over to stand nearer Allison, looking at Diego over her shoulder. Close enough to protect her from anything. “There was a note. We uh, we brought it.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a clear plastic bag with paper in it.

“Wait,” Allison said. Luther froze. “We need to know he’s willing to take the case first.”

He shrugged. Curious, sure, but he had his own shit going on. “I mean, you’re a famous actress. Can’t you buy some special attention from the city’s finest?”

The smile returned to her lips. “That’s what I’m trying to do. The cops aren’t going to find anything. If Patrick _was_ responsible for this, he’s involved some dangerous players. Luther’s heard your name in certain circles. We think you might be able to help us.” She leaned onto the desk. His gaze flickered to her cleavage then back to her face. He reminded himself she was an actress. Her moves were intentional and aware. “Detective, the Commission are likely involved in this. Say the word and we won’t bother you any more with it.”

“Show me the note,” he said instead.

She smiled and nodded to Luther, who handed it over. “You’ve been through the crime scene?” Diego asked.

Allison parted her lips to answer but the words seemed to stick in her throat. She looked away and Luther squeezed her shoulder. “It only happened a couple hours ago,” he explained on her behalf. “We snatched that up before anyone else could see it.”

“If the cops know the Commission is involved they’ll back off,” Allison said. “Maybe even hide the evidence. It’s only a matter of time. So we figured we’d get word to someone who might actually help us. I need my baby girl back. She--” Allison broke off again, putting a hand to her face as though she could cry. For a moment Diego thought of his own mother, her hand over her grieving face.

“We’ll get her back,” Luther promised, still rubbing Allison’s shoulder. 

Diego didn’t like to make false promises. He reread the note. Committed the neat handwriting to memory, the type of paper, the sentence structure. “No ransom request?” They shook their heads. “So what do they want? The Commission don’t kidnap high-profile young girls for what, trafficking?”

“Jesus,” Allison whispered, looking at him with disgust. “Don’t even say that.”

“They don’t. If they did there’s a dozen girls on the streets tonight they’d pick before stealing your daughter from her glitzy room.”

“We were at the theatre,” Allison said. “I’ve been working on a large-scale project with the company there. Claire was in the dressing room. Until she wasn’t.”

“Still doesn’t answer the question. What do they want?”

“We were kind of hoping you could find that out,” Luther said.

“I’d do anything to get my little girl back,” Allison said. “Please, detective.”

“I’m the first person you’ve come to?”

“Well, we called the cops a little while after we couldn’t find her, of course,” Luther said. “Gave our statements. I think they were just about to take a look at the scene.”

Diego jumped up from his seat, throwing the mostly empty folder aside. “For fuck’s sake, why didn’t you say so. I gotta get there before they trample over everything. Come on.”

“I guess you’re taking the case?” Allison asked as Luther helped her into her expensive coat.

“Yeah, I’m taking the case. I’ll help you find your daughter.”

Anything to get back at those Commission bastards. 

It was a little while later that Diego wondered how Allison and Luther had suspected he would feel that way.


	3. everything's a lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diego nips home to see his mom.

The house is always spotless. Diego always feels like a conspicuous speck of dirt in the squeaky clean and bright environment, even though his mom always lights up to see him and he only visits when his father isn’t around. 

Mom fusses over his new hair and insists he come through to the kitchen for a bite to eat. He doesn’t argue. He hates grocery shopping and cooking. More days than he likes to admit, he just swallows down some raw eggs for the protein. 

“You keep shortening it every time and soon we’ll be seeing your scalp!” 

He musters up a smile for her before she turns away to the cupboards to get some food for her ‘growing boy’. “It’s not that short, mom. The shorter the better. In my line of work someone could grab it.”

She turns to him cradling a box of flour and sighs. In her floral apron and fifties-style dress, she looks like she could be the front cover of a housekeeping magazine. “Are you fighting again?”

“I know you don’t like it, but fights bring in cash when I’m between cases.”

“Diego…” She worries at her red-painted lower lip gently with her teeth before saying, “if you need money...”

“Dad would never agree.”

Even though they’re the only two people in the house, she glances up as if his father could have materialised in the study upstairs with an ear to the floor. Nothing would surprise Diego from the old man anymore. 

“Perhaps he wouldn’t know,” his mom says carefully.

“You’re terrible at keeping secrets from him.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Sorry.”

She turns back to the counter and gets on with preparing food. Diego’s tense. This was a mistake, coming here fresh from the scene. Should have waited until after the case, when he’ll be in the right frame of mind to relax in his mom’s company. For now he’s on edge, turning facts over and over in his head, trying to put pieces together. It’s a bad way to be in this house, where pieces of the past slot together to make an ugly picture that his mother’s love barely paints over. 

“This latest case. Looks like it’s connected to the Commission.”

There’s no response from his mom, who carries on nudging a spatula into her frying pan. It’s frustrating – he knows she heard him – but he waits until she’s set down a plate in front of him with some sweet pancakes and fruit before he repeats himself. 

Watches her forced smile fade.

“Dear, you know how I wish you would stay away from those awful, awful people. There really is no need to get tangled up in all their unpleasant business.”

“There’s _every_ need, mom! If I’m right, they’ve got some poor girl hostage!”

“So contact the police.”

“Really?” He knows his expression is sour. “Really. The police. That’s what you’re gonna say to me. Thanks. Clearly you think a lot of my abilities.”

“You’re a competent investigator,” his mother says calmly. “But you’re not a one man army, Diego. While I think you overstate their impact, they’re clearly a very dangerous group of people.”

“Which is why I need to do something about them.”

“I don’t think this is about some poor girl, is it?”

“Depends on which girl,” he mutters. He hates when she sees through him like this. 

“Eudora was a very brave woman. She knew what she was getting into when she put on her badge. She wouldn’t want you taking risks like this.”

He’s only a few mouthfuls into his pancakes, but he finds he’s rapidly losing his appetite. He sets his fork down on the table. 

“What about Ben? Did he know what he was getting into?”

Mom sighs and looks away from his glare. “We’ll never really know what happened to--”

“Yes we will!” Diego blurts, pushing up from the table. “We do!”

“Diego,” she says, surprised at his outburst, but he won’t be dissuaded by her wide eyes. He’s not a child anymore. He had seen too much even then, trying to protect his little brother from their father’s wrath. Mom never seemed to see that either. It didn’t fit with the aesthetic of a happy home. 

He remembers her grief, when the cops came to the door that night. He had been here asking her if she’d heard anything, when they arrived. How her dress had bunched up artfully when she fell to her knees, one hand to her heart and another clasped to her mouth. A performance of grief. 

“They killed him, Mom. They murdered him.”

“We don’t know--”

“You don’t _want_ to know! That’s what you mean! You wanna have this shiny house, the gallery, the charities, the galas, the dresses, the reputation boost from adopting a pair of troubled boys...”

“Now, Diego...”

“One of them getting ripped to pieces and strewn across the canal just doesn’t fit with the showhome, does it?”

A tear slips from one of her eyes and trails down her cheek. She tugs a handkerchief from her pocket and dabs it away. Maybe in a few years he’ll look back on this and think of it as done for show, but in this moment it seems completely genuine and Diego’s chest tightens. 

“S-sorry. I’m sorry, m-mom. I’ve… the doc g-gave me some new meds and--”

“You haven’t finished your pancakes.”

He sits back down and carries on eating. He could use the nutrition, if he’s honest. After a while, his mom starts to talk about the next gala his father’s hosting. 

“It would be lovely if you could make it,” she says, knowing that he won’t. Even as a child he hated those things. These days he certainly wouldn’t look the part. 

“Not really my scene, mom.”

She smiles a little at his clear plate and reaches out to squeeze his hand.

“A change of scenery might be what you need.”

“I’ll think about it.”

So many nights he thinks about it. The house kept up like painted scenery on a stage. The charities to hide his father’s dirty money. His mother’s big fake smiles to distract from the tears and the abuse and the cold. The way their expensive tailored shorts were specifically made long enough to hide the marks from his father’s cane. 

Ben and Diego had grown up knowing that glamour was only there to hide something dark and dangerous. Diego’s life these days is dirty and dismal… but at least it’s real.


	4. they've got me on some medication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diego's off his meds.

_they’ve got me on some medication_

Volatile. Violent. Paranoid. Delusions of grandeur. History of paternal violence **[redacted]**

There are drugs for that. 

There are drugs for everything.

Diego never wanted them. The first time he didn’t get any say in the matter. After the initial arrest he lost days to a medicated fog. If Eudora hadn’t vouched for him he probably wouldn’t have got out. It wasn’t like his second institutionalisation, where he fought tooth and nail like a rabid animal for his freedom, Lila spitting equal fury and insanity at his side.

No, that first time it was all new and confusing. Men in white coats. Soft voices and cells. Bright lights, white walls. Eudora unusually gentle and worried. His mother looking out of place in the visitor’s room. Then the pills in a little bottle. 

The promise of ‘better’. 

He hadn’t expected them to do anything. He had taken them as a show of obedience. Everything had been so difficult and strange after losing Ben, there was no equilibrium. He’d had no balance to lose. The drugs dissolved the static of anxiety and grief into the white noise of quiet almost-contentment without his noticing. Not contentment. Apathy. But without the boredom. 

Eudora had helped him settle in back home. Locked away all his paperwork regarding the Commission case. Diego’s interest in it wavered, like his interest in everything. He didn’t even feel like having sex anymore. He felt wrapped in cotton. It was nice to feel like the bad things couldn’t touch him. Not so nice to feel he couldn’t reach the good things. 

Gradually, it started to bother him. Eudora made suggestions about getting the dose revised. Diego didn’t feel he needed a doctor’s permission for that. He lowered his intake all by himself. And yes, he got a little tetchy. Started looking over his shoulder all the time again. Jumped when Eudora got home unexpectedly. But he felt a bit more like himself. He went back to his paperwork on the case again, just looking things over. It was important to have a hobby.

When Eudora forced him back to the doctor, the guy tried to up his dose. He had ‘concerns’. Well Diego had concerns too, concerns that his doctor was paid off by the Commission to drug him into compliance!

His theory had not led to an authorised reduction in his medication. 

Not a problem, he thought. He’d lowered his dose all by himself. Not much harder to go full cold turkey. 

So he thought. 

Issues occurred fast. Physical symptoms worse than he’d had before the drugs – heart palpitations, dizziness, itchiness, phantom sounds, dots in his vision. 

Emotionally it was worse. Everyone was out to get him, but he’d known that even before the drugs. What got him most during the sudden comedown was how _powerless_ he was, how he couldn’t even convince Eudora of the danger he was in.

But it hadn’t been him that was in danger. The biggest lie his brain had told him – that the web of lies had him in the middle. It didn’t. He was peripheral. 

Every night when he brushes his teeth before bed or when he wakes in a cold sweat in the night and goes to wash his face, he sees the little bottles stacked up in his medical cabinet. And he thinks of Eudora slamming them down on his desk the last time he ever saw her. Furious, passionate, about to get herself killed in the pursuit of justice but no less passionate about her personal cause – Diego.

“How can I take you with me when you’re like this, Diego?! You’re off your meds and it’s making you crazy!”

“ _They_ were making me crazy!”

“I don’t have time for this right now. My contact’s not going to hang around.”

“You can’t fucking trust these people!”

“At this moment? I can’t trust _you_.”

“Dora...”

“I want you in on this, Diego,” she had said, voice soft and sincere. “I’m not going to stonewall you or tell you it’s not your fight. I’m not even going to report this, though I should. It violates your court order to stop the meds.”

“But--”

“I’m not going to. I’m going to help you work through this because I need you at my back. I need someone I can trust.” She had squeezed his hand. “I know you can be that person again. I believe in you, okay?”

He had rolled his eyes. “You believe in everyone.”

That at least had made her smile. She’d kissed his cheek. (Not his lips, not since the break up.) “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

Then she never was. 

Every night Diego stares at those pill bottles. He wonders if there’ll be a day that he’s comfortable taking them again, getting back on the path to being the person Eudora saw in him. 

Whoever that was, they’re not the person he needs to be right now. Eudora had wanted what was best for him and what was best for the city. Diego’s enough of a realist to recognise that the two don’t work together. There are no happy ever afters for men like him.

Even ones you can buy by the bottle.


	5. never trust anyone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diego stakes out a suspect.

_never trust anyone_

His windows have large, obvious double-locks that he checks a few times a day. There’s a place on the frame where the glass slides out though, when you know where to look. In case he needs to get out fast. Every door has a small strip from a toothpick or a black thread, placed where he knows to look for it. If it’s snapped, his sanctuary has been infiltrated.

Diego sleeps in the office, in the backroom. Eudora used to complain that he never left the place. After he lost her, he decided to make it official. A bed of sorts hidden behind some storage cabinets. He has guests less and less these days. Lila and Klaus can whine but either one of them would sleep on the floor if no better alternative presented itself. 

He sleeps less too these days. Sometimes by design, sometimes because he can’t close his eyes without finding himself standing in the morgue, identifying what’s left of his brother’s body. Although Eudora had died from a single shot to the head, sometimes Diego imagines her on the slab next to Ben’s. In the same state. 

For so long he had _warned_ his brother. Ben had always been a reluctant fighter, not like Diego. He carried a gun, but would never use it. They had fished it out of the water and found it hadn’t fired a single shot. Diego had made him promise, but that was Ben’s way – verbally agreeable, then doing what he wanted anyway. At least when Diego did dumb shit he was upfront about it. Ben said every time that he was careful.

Ben lied. There was no careful, not when you were hunting the Commission. Not that he saw it as a hunt. No, Ben was a seeker of truth. A fucking journalist. Barely ever printed. Had it in his head that the right story could open eyes and save the stinking city. 

“Call me,” Diego had told him whenever they discussed what he was up to. “You get in over your head, I need to know.”

“Sure, of course.”

But Ben’s last call had gone unanswered. And it hadn’t been to Diego. 

It had been to the huge man currently working his way through a steak dinner in the window seat of Perry’s. Luther is bodyguard to Diego’s client, which should make him the last person to suspect. But life often throws you for a loop if you take anything for granted. _“You know what they say about assumptions...”_ Klaus’ voice sing-songs in Diego’s head. He can almost feel the black nails walking teasingly up his chest.

A shake of his head and he’s awake and alert again. Luther’s calling over the waiter for a refill on his drink. He and Allison tend to dine apart, but other than that they’re always together. He’s a loyal guard dog. Diego doesn’t trust that. Allison was fostered by Luther’s family, an arrangement not dissimilar to Diego and Ben’s. As much as Diego loved his brother, he couldn’t imagine living in his pockets this way. Maybe the work was proving too much for devoted Luther? Perhaps there was money to be made by taking advantage of the trust his foster sister had in him? 

He has been cooperative so far, it’s true, but generous cooperation can be a smokescreen. 

Diego’s stomach rumbles as he watches Luther demolish his steak. He’s hungry, tired and thirsty. He wants to eliminate one suspect. Just one. So far his notes cover pretty much everyone he’s spoken to since the famous Allison came to his office like an out-of-place diamond falling in the gutter. The note makes it likely the Commission are connected, though the demand itself is vague, making their motives unclear.

Allison knows something she’s not saying. So does Luther, even if it’s just what Diego’s brother wanted to say before wandering to his death. He probably knows more than that. Allison’s estranged husband Patrick is another suspect. Their split was hardly friendly, that’s common knowledge, splashed across the papers. Then there’s the whole Commission staff, including that little shit Number Five. The other people in the theatre at the time, that girl Vanya from the orchestra and her friend Leonard. Then Klaus’ phone number on a card nearby. 

Too many puzzle pieces for it to be one picture. Diego wants to discard as many as possible. 

Call the police, his mom had said. As if he had any intention of taking the bastards alive. 

He knows this isn’t sustainable. His diet, his insomnia, his fights, his maudlin trips down memory lane, sleeping with whores (well… Klaus) and whatever the fuck he has with Lila, his following of deadly people. He does know. But it doesn’t have to last forever.

Diego just needs to keep going long enough to put a knife or bullet in the Handler’s skull. They never found Eudora’s gun for him to exact that bonus poetic justice, but he can make do. Allison’s fee will give him a fresh start outside the city and once the head of the Commission is dead, Diego might be able to sleep without ghosts.

Jolting awake in his car suddenly, Diego sees Luther’s table has been cleared. The big guy’s long gone. Another wasted night. 

How long will the Commission wait for Allison’s response, he wonders. It all depends on what they want. And that, despite the note, is something Diego still can’t figure out. And nobody will tell him, even the people who want his help. 

Sliding a key in the ignition, he heads home for another night of pretending to sleep.


	6. what's wrong with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at Diego's most recent stint in an institution.

Once or twice a week, a shrink spoke to Diego about his ‘rage’ issues and ‘paranoia’. Diego always said the same thing, “it’s not crazy if they’re really out to get you, doc”. The first time, the doctor had chuckled a little. It got to be more than twenty times by the end. He stopped smiling at it by then. 

Early on in this stay at the facility, Diego was separated from the other patients due to a misunderstanding when one of them snuck up on him while he was making a shiv from a pen. 

No Eudora to get him out. That was his fault too. 

It was hard to keep track of the time in the little room. Every orderly who came to feed or inject him could have been a Commission spy and Diego fought every one of them valiantly. 

Eventually he came to realise two things.

1\. If they were going to kill him they could have done it by now.

2\. If the plan was to discredit him by making him seem crazy, he was playing right into their hands by acting crazy.

So Diego stopped fighting. It didn’t take long to be allowed back into the less secure rooms where he could freely associate with people who were much crazier than him. In fairness, he knew his story sounded insane. A city-wide conspiracy of wealthy elite and an organised crime mob? The coroner’s report minimised Ben’s wounds, the case was closed as a mugging gone wrong. Eudora was marked as lost in the line of duty stopping an armed robbery. Her partner was killed a few weeks later, a ‘traffic accident’. Diego was told over and over that these things were unfortunate, but that they didn’t _mean_ anything. They didn’t add up.

There was no point arguing of course. He needed to play along to get out of there. Occasionally the doctor brought in a detective to talk to him. It was offensive, really. Diego knew better than to answer any of their questions. They were obviously Commission stooges, wanting to know if he would keep talking about them. So he bit his tongue and bided his time.

“Real man of mystery, you are,” said Lila Pitts, from where she sat upside down against the wall in the group recreation room. “You know treating the docs mean keeps ‘em keen, right?”

“I’m just boring. So boring they’ll have to let me go.”

“Oh, you adorable fuckwit. That’s not how it works. They’re not letting you go.”

He pushed her legs and she fell into a sprawl across the floor. Loud, abrasive, erratic, she was an absolute trainwreck. Just like him. The difference was the staff liked her. She didn’t like them but she pretended to and that seemed to be all they needed. Diego tried, mimicked the smiles and the polite small-talk, but he could only do it for about twenty minutes at a time or less before he got tetchy. 

“Why do you need them to like you?” Lila asked when he complained about it.

“I wanna get my file.” She laughed at him. “Or get access to a space where I can sneak a look at my file.”

Lila shrugged, oversized patient uniform sliding a little way down her narrow shoulders. “I’ll get it for you. I’m stamping papers in the admin room later.”

She said it like it was nothing and Diego raised his eyebrows, wondering what the catch was or if he was lucky enough to catch her in a cooperative mood.

“What?” She asked, when she caught his stare. “A girl’d do a lot for abs like that.” She jabbed him in the chest.

“Ow!” It was more surprise than anything, but her bony finger did leave an ache that would bruise a little. 

“Don’t be such a baby. And don’t get into trouble, or I won’t be able to bring it to you.”

As if Diego got into trouble every day.

It was never more than once a week.

A couple of days passed before he and Lila were in the recreation room at the same time. She pulled a file out from under her top, almost flashing him in the process, then shoved it in with the art papers and slid it over to him. He went to take it, but she kept her hand firm on it.

“Take me with you?” She asked.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, confused.

“Oh, you’ll want to when you read this.”

“Can’t read it until you let me.”

“Promise you’ll take me with you first.”

There didn’t seem to really be a choice. “Fine.”

Her hand raised from the file and Diego snatched it. He skimmed the papers within. The clinical language made it surprisingly dull. They assessed him on various scales, diagnosed obsessions, neatly wrote up his short sessions with the psychiatrist. Recorded his meds. Diego grinned with grim satisfaction when he saw how many they thought he’d taken. They clearly hadn’t found where he was stashing them yet.

Then he got to the last page. An internal memo. 

‘Input from external consultant confirms lifelong institutionalisation likely. Treatments unlikely to be successful. Objective is to retain, sedate and manage. Any developments should be fed back to external consultant. Patient must not be made aware of consultant or projections for his stay.’

Diego’s hands trembled as he lay the file back down. “They’re not planning on letting me leave.”

“Nope.”

“ _Ever_.”

“Told you.”

He flicked the file open again and looked at the statement. “External consultant? Who the fuck is that?”

“Happens sometimes,” Lila said with a shrug. “It’s weird, normally situations like yours, where someone’s seen some shit out on the mean streets.”

The Commission. It was proof, then. They had money and control even there, in the psychiatric facility. 

“I’ve gotta get out of here.”

Lila cleared her throat loudly. He looked at her and she gave him a pointed look as if to nudge him into… oh.

“We’ve gotta get out of here.”

She beamed. “That’s what I’m talking about! Listen, I’m on canteen duty in a couple days. Pretty sure I can blow the gas canister in the kitchen. Fire alarm goes, we leg it. Deal?” 

They shook on it. Given Diego’s preference for preparation, there were surprisingly few details to hash out.

In this case, a simpler plan gave less room for mistakes. A couple days, a small explosion and a stabbed orderly later, they were both sprinting away from the facility. They stole a car. Diego gave her directions, not thinking for one second of going anywhere but back to work.

“Won’t they look for you there?”

“Going straight home after an escape? It’s the last place they’ll look. Plus, I know my home turf. I can hide better there if they come calling.”

When she dropped him off she followed him inside. He hadn’t been banking on that. When he tried to suggest she go her own way, she objected so loudly he panicked and let her join him. 

“Least you can do,” she said once they’re inside, “given I basically saved your arse.”

“Hey, I pulled my weight,” he said. But he didn’t. Not really. She had managed most of the escape alone. She hadn’t needed him. 

If she hadn’t needed him, why did she wait for him before putting her plan into action?

“Lila, how come--”

Her lips pressed against his. Her hand slid up under his shirt, pressed a palm against the little bruise she had left days before. 

It had been a while. And she was nothing if not passionate. Not warm, but burning, and Diego let himself be burned.

In the morning the only sign she was there at all were the scratchmarks down his chest.


	7. somehow I cannot let you in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diego's hurt in the line of duty and Klaus plays nursemaid for a bit.

“I can’t believe you were just gonna go home like this.”

It takes Diego a couple of tries to catch his breath to respond to Klaus’ comment, even though he’s sitting down on the hotel bed and not exerting himself. 

“Was gonna put some ice on it.”

Klaus rolls his eyes and pulls back the bag of frozen onions that Diego’s holding to his face. He winces a little at what he sees and presses it back gently. Even the gentle touch sends a throbbing pain through Diego’s skull. “Bad?”

“It’ll heal. How are your ribs?” His hands graze Diego’s middle, where the skin is already mottled and bruised. 

“Cracked I think. But I can breathe. Mostly.”

“Would you seek medical attention if you couldn’t?”

“Probably not.” Diego can’t help but smirk. “You got insurance, stripper boy?” Umbrellas is a pretty upmarket place, but he can’t imagine they offer a great employee benefit package.

“Nope. But I have a couple favours I could call in. If I had to.”

“You’d use them on me?”

It doesn’t even seem to occur to Klaus that that’s strange. He frowns at Diego. There’s glitter on his eyelids even though he’s in a little robe rather than his ‘working clothes’. “Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Life you lead you should probably keep them for yourself.”

“Maybe the life I lead offers the opportunity to earn more favours,” Klaus says teasingly. 

“High price,” Diego says, voice wheezing a little. He looks away from Klaus’ kneeling form and around the hotel room. “Business must be booming to earn a room like this.”

With a raise of his eyebrow as if to say ‘do you really want to know?’ Klaus smiles. “Maybe I have a benefactor.”

“So how come I catch you on the streets?”

“Doesn’t count as catching if you just watch from a distance,” Klaus teases. He gets up and wanders over to the first aid kit on the chest of drawers, rifling through it. It’s well-stocked, obviously not issued with the room. Diego wonders if Klaus’ ‘benefactor’ gave it to him – he doesn't think Klaus is the sort to spend money on medical supplies that don't get him high. Diego wonders if Klaus has had much cause to use the first aid kit for himself. The thought makes him want to go back out to kick some asses. 

“Does this benefactor know you still work the streets?”

“Yeah. It’s a topic of debate.”

“What about me?”

He didn’t mean to say it. Perhaps he has a slight concussion after all. It doesn’t seem to faze Klaus, who saunters back over to him cheerfully in his black dressing gown and bare feet with another little disinfectant wipe in his hands. 

“Oh, you’re a topic of minor debate too.”

“You talk about me?”

Diego’s skin prickles, and not just where Klaus is using the wipe to clean his wounds. He doesn’t think Klaus knows _much_ of his business, but he knows more than most and Diego tries to keep a tight lid on all his activities. He likes to control who knows what. 

“Relax, I know you’re a secret agent.”

“Detective.”

“Whatever. I know you like to be sneaky. I just told him I like you, is all.” Klaus almost pets Diego’s wound with with little delicate swipes of the cloth. “Said how I don’t… always make you pay.”

“How did he feel about that?”

The last thing Diego needs is a new enemy. Especially one with money who’s mad at him over a hooker. 

“Worried, I think. He tries to take care of me.”

“I could,” Diego blurts. Klaus looks up at him in surprise. He tries to clarify. “T-take care of you, I mean.”

He can’t quite decipher the look on Klaus’ face. He’s seen it before, once early in their acquaintance when he offered to walk him home because the streets aren’t safe. Whatever that look means, it soon fades into an almost-sad little smile. “Oh Dee, but then what brave hero would take care of the city?”

Diego shakes his head. Regrets it immediately. Ouch. “You know I’m just trying to handle a case.”

“Uh huh. This is so not just a case for you. Not if you’re out there tussling with Patrick’s dudes.”

Fat lot of good it did, anyway. Whatever the asshole was into, there was nothing to suggest he was responsible for his daughter’s absence. “Guy’s a TV producer, how was I supposed to know he’d have that kinda security.”

Klaus has the nerve to giggle. “Gee, I guess maybe that’s where the _detecting_ part of your job comes into play? I don’t know though, I’m not in that line of work.”

“Ass.”

“Do you like it?” Klaus teases, flicking up his gown to flash one pert cheek at Diego. 

“I… yeah, but I didn’t come here to--”

“Pfft,” Klaus waves a hand. “I know that. I’m the one who had to drag your ass in here. I know.” He looks away and Diego follows his gaze to the clock on the wall. Nine pm already. “You can hang around a couple of hours I think.”

“You expecting company later?” Diego asks.

“Jealous?”

“Maybe.” Definitely concussed. Shit. He shouldn’t have said that. Should have laughed it off.

“That’s a bad idea,” Klaus says bluntly. “I’m not saying you’re emotionally closed off or anything, but...” He makes a face as he thinks about it. “I’m trying to find a way _not_ to say that.”

It would hardly be the first time Diego was accused of it. It’s why he and Lila get along so well. Why he and Eudora broke up. He still remembers Ben joking that he should start small, ‘one of those penpal schemes where you write to someone on death row, maybe’. 

“I do like you, Klaus.” Way more than he should.

“Is this because I’m patching up your boo-boos?” Klaus asks, waving another bandage from the kit. “You getting all Oedipal on me baby?”

“No, jesus.”

“If I’d known, I could have got a sexy nurse’s outfit.”

“I’m serious.”

With a sigh, Klaus comes to sit beside him on the bed. He kisses Diego’s forehead, opposite side to the cuts and bruises. “You think you are. And that’s really nice. It’s better than anyone else has given me.” He kisses his cheek. “And that’s why I like you.”

“I could--” Klaus’ finger presses to Diego’s lips, silencing him.

“No talkie with the concussion. You’ll make promises you can’t keep and break my little heart.” He looks again at the clock. “You rest for a bit, ‘kay? I’ll wake you up to ask who the president is in an hour or so.”

He keeps to his word, then gets Diego to go back to sleep.

It’s easier than it is sleeping in his own place.

The second time he wakes, Klaus checks on him again, then apologises.

“Gotta kick you out now.”

“Before your sugar daddy gets home.”

Klaus laughs and shakes his head. “Something like that.” His usual sweet peck on the lips then he’s ushering Diego out of the door. 

Diego has cracked ribs, a cracked tooth, black eye, a cut in possible need of stitches…

...and he still feels giddy like a boy just leaving his first date.

A bad sign.


	8. sometimes I feel too afraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Diego sleeps, he dreams of the people he's failed.

Diego didn’t like to drink much. It tended to hit hard when he did. Sometimes he wished that he did, just so he could knock himself out to sleep. But that would have been a sign of a habitual alcoholic and he never had the time for any additional struggles. 

He drank water and stared himself in the eye in the mirror. He counted sheep, listened to music on low volume, checked the locks on the doors and windows again. Jerked off. Went back to his desk and looked over his investigation notes again. Went back to bed. Ran through the investigation in his head. Planned the day ahead. 

Eventually… he dozed off. 

_The morgue was cold. And he wasn’t alone. Eudora and Ben walked past him and started tugging out the shelves and unzipping body bags._

_“Are you just going to stand there?” Ben asked, opening a body bag. It was empty. They were all empty._

_“It’s okay, Diego,” Eudora said. “You take all the time you need.”_

_“There’s no time,” Ben said. “There’s a girl’s life at risk!”_

_That made sense. It sounded familiar. Diego wasn’t sure what to do. He felt rooted to the spot, cold to the core as he watched his loved ones rifle through empty body bags. He didn’t know how to help._

_Ben’s arms were bleeding as he unzipped bags. Eudora wiped blood from her eyes._

_“I don’t think we’re going to find her,” Eudora said._

_Ben huffed and looked at Diego expectantly. The blood was everywhere now, from the lacerations down his arms and across his neck and his smashed eyesocket. “Are you really going to let this happen again?”_

_“No.”_

_A gentle hand touched his arm. “Maybe you should wake up then?”_

_He looked to Eudora. The bullethole was widening in her forehead._

Diego jolted awake with a hiss, grabbing at his own arms then the thin blanket. Maybe if he got some fucking heating he’d stop dreaming about that place. 

Ridiculous to think so. Maybe if he got some fucking _justice_ he’d stop dreaming.

Until then…

Another glass of water. Diego took it to his desk. Got back to work.


End file.
